


Hey, Jealousy

by Davechicken



Series: The Pilot and his Knight [19]
Category: Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-21
Updated: 2016-03-21
Packaged: 2018-05-28 06:46:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,833
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6318829
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Davechicken/pseuds/Davechicken
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is all Bryan the Mechanic's fault.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hey, Jealousy

**Author's Note:**

  * For [poetdameron](https://archiveofourown.org/users/poetdameron/gifts), [Themes_of_November](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Themes_of_November/gifts).



Kylo Ren is drop dead gorgeous. There is no two ways about it; when he rode the wave of adolescence to its peak, he really came into himself. After the years of gawky, lanky, too-long arms and legs… after years of bumping awkwardly into furniture and people, and shooting up so fast that what pants leg one day was trailing on the floor was the next showing more ankle than was seemly… man. Had he ever won the genetic lottery.

Tall, but perfectly proportioned. Strong, muscular limbs with an effortless power behind them. Broad, sure shoulders. A chest that you could bounce credits off; an ass that screamed _fuck me_  when it walked past; legs and calves and… Poe just loves it. All of it. He loves the stardust of darker splotches over his porcelain-pale skin. Even after exposure to the sun, Kylo’s never become a bronzed god. Instead, he goes from white, to blush-pink, to tomato-red, to very briefly young parchment-flimsi… and then back to white again. Even his tan lines don’t last long. It’s like he repels the light itself, but then he glows with his own, paler version: the moon, to Poe’s sun. An inner opalescence, that makes Poe press his fingers deeper, to watch the way blood flows in and out of the topography of Kylo’s skin.

His hair… oh, Maker. Poe could - and would - wax lyrical for days about Kylo’s hair. Soft, smooth, and the perfect length to knot your hands in. The perfect length to drag his head back, and make him arch. To make his throat open for a good, hard fucking. To make his back bend when he mounts him from behind and rides him like he means it. He’s just gorgeous. From loving, brown eyes down to curling, scratching toes. Poe _loves_ looking at him.

Kylo doesn’t realise, though he’s beginning to suspect. Poe’s told him all along how beautiful he is, but he’s only ever seen his younger self in the mirror. Only ever seen a face that reminds him of his father, or features that were prominent and a source of past ridicule. Poe doesn’t think they’re ridiculous. They give his face a gravity, a weight, and an ethereal quality, all in one. He’s _Kylo_. No one else looks quite like him. Poe could take or leave an average, pretty-boy face, or even a rugged, manly-man face. They’re all nice, in theory, but Kylo has the kind of face that haunts your dreams and won’t let go. He loves to trail his fingers over his features, and if he were an artistic man… he’d paint and sculpt him in his sleep.

Instead, he recreates him in his mind, whenever they’re apart. The internalised knowledge of how Kylo would smile at a joke, or the way his nose would crinkle in distaste at some imagined tragedy. The blush across his cheeks when…

Yeah. Anyway.

Poe has tried to tell him this. His words aren’t good enough, because Kylo never accepts them. His hands and lips aren’t good enough, because once the tingling sense-memory fades… once the heat of need and lust and adoration wanes to the lower-burn of affection and care… his insecurities kick in and Poe has to reassure him all over again. 

Which is both endearing and frustrating in equal measure. Maybe one day Kylo will accept Poe’s opinion of him - or more of it - but until then, he’s just stuck reassuring him that _yes,_ he’s fucking sexy and **yes,** he’s a good, kind, loving person. And _**no** , _Poe isn’t going to change his mind and leave him.

Seeing Kylo walk around the base, he can watch the change, day by day. At the start, he’d been withdrawn and aloof. He’d walked around as if anyone coming close enough would be zapped by Force-lightning, and frankly, half the base thought that was true. He’d made himself as small as possible, his hulking form turned into an echo of that teenage boy. He’d not been easy for anyone to talk to, already judging himself the villain they were sure he was. It had infuriated Poe, because he’d wanted to shake people and say _Can’t you see he was hurting? He was used? He was a boy?_ He’d wanted to scream from the rooftops that **Ben Organa-Solo had been manipulated and abused and tortured and he just needed people to believe in him and didn’t they understand how hard it was for him to come back to the Light and yet he did it anyway not even for his own soul but because he knew it was the right thing to do?**

And he had said those things. Vehemently. To several close friends, when they’d whispered things in the changing rooms between missions. In the commissary, over cold plates. He’d argued Dark was Dark and Light was Light and eventually it had worked. Or… or maybe Kylo had. He’d started to joke, subtly and _sotto voce_ at first. He’d offered help. He’d answered questions. He’d… become normalised into the routine of the community. Still shier, quieter, but… real.

And it had all been fine until he’d gone and - what? Poe isn’t sure. He’s just sure that he saw Kylo _blush_ when he was talking to that mechanic, working on Poe’s X-Wing. Maybe not blush like he does when Poe calls him beautiful, but he’d definitely reacted. Smiled, and gone a little shy. 

Which means Poe wants to murder him. The mechanic.

No. Okay. Not murder him.

But yes, murder him.

NO.

It’s complicated. Okay? The man is all - he’s pretty, too. Probably. And he’s taller than Poe (not difficult). And he’s young, and athletic, and good with his hands, and he’s _flirting with Kylo Ren_. His Kylo. **His** Kylo. 

And doesn’t he know that’s not available? Isn’t it blindingly obvious that Kylo is spoken for? To everyone? Even though Kylo isn’t one for public displays of affection, they’ve been caught making out in the hangar multiple times. And holding hands. And being joined at the hip. And Poe never shutting up about how great Kylo is.

The mechanic - Bryan? Bryan, Stealer of Boyfriends - **must** know that Kylo is spoken for. And it’s not even a case of calling rank on him (which, by the way, _Commander Dameron_ would **so** win), or even first-dibs, or anything. It’s the part where he’s madly in love with Kylo, has been since they were young, fought through hell and high water to get him back, held him when he cried himself to sleep at nights, and would go through anything for him. 

Oh, and also, Kylo loves him back. Right? He does. He’s always saying how Poe is _too good_ for him. Too Light, or kind, or sweet, or brave, or strong, or whatever. And Poe can’t lie that it is a nice ego boost to be thought of so highly, and he also can’t lie that there’s also a thread of inadequacy in his _own_ mind because Kylo… Kylo’s _special_. He’s so bright and powerful, like a pulsar. Light-Dark-Light-Dark and so blinding that it hurts. So seeing him… seeing him…

“Poe?”  


He’s riding a wave of darkness all of his own making, when they get back home. It’s been swirling in his core all day, making him irritable and short-tempered. Normally he’s as cordial as anyone can be, and - to be fair - his version of _angry_ is mostly just a lack of _overt caring for others_ instead of true venom. But even a lack of compassion and clipped tones has made for arched brows and quiet concern for him, all day.

“Kylo.”  


“…what…” his lover falters, his mouth working over words his lips and tongue can’t frame.   


He wants to say: _Nothing, you did nothing wrong_ , but he also wants to say:  _Bryan? That jumped up little shit? The one who nearly wiped my navcomp?_ And also:  _Aren’t I enough for you, now?_ And: _I’m going to chain you to my bed for a month so you remember not to try leaving_.

But those things all sound crazy. And he doesn’t want to be the crazy boyfriend. And then he also feels guilty about thinking that _Kylo_ is normally the crazy one, because now they must both be crazy, and he hasn’t replied properly, and Kylo is looking horrified and betrayed and ashamed and– shit. 

Sensible boyfriends would politely discuss their envy. And their annoyance. And get reassured that their boyfriends weren’t about to run off with Bryan, Dark Lord of Adultery. They would deal with the underlying insecurity, and walk out of this both more mature and reassured. They would kiss and reaffirm and maybe come up with ground rules and things to counter-act this happening again.

Sensible boyfriends wouldn’t grab hold of their taller partners and **slam them forcibly into the door behind them and kiss them as hard as they freaking could**. Which Poe is totally doing, which is stupid, and he knows it. He knows it, even as he pushes his knuckles into Kylo’s chest, above the heart. Knows it, as he savages his lip until there’s teeth and tongue for him to ravage just as fiercely. Until he can push the muffled non-complaint back down Kylo’s throat. He fucks his mouth and pulls his hair so hard that Kylo’s knees buckle under the sting of it, and that brings him down onto a level where Poe can wrap his other hand around his throat and _feel him breathe_.

It’s not meant to be a threat, and it is. It’s not meant to be a promise, and it is. It’s meant to be… everything. He presses down and down and down until Kylo’s barely breathing through his nose, while Poe feels his full lips tremble against his own, and Kylo has hold of him just as tight, but not to fight. To _hold on_. To feel close, and grounded.

Kylo normally likes things a little rougher than Poe does, on the whole. So he must be confused by the sudden torrent of attention. He pulls back - hand still in place, feeling the swallows - and catches his eyes. “Bed. Now.”

His lover nods, but is stuck, immobile. Torn between wanting to co-operate, and not wanting to fight the choke-hold that’s slowly making his face go red. Poe wonders how _rough_ Kylo really likes it, and–

No. You don’t do it out of anger. Never out of anger. Only out of love. He lowers his hand, and steps a half-pace back.

Worried eyes scan his face, and Poe offers a narrow smile. “It’s okay, babe. I just… I need you, alright? I need you.”

That’s reassurance enough for Kylo, who nods and slinks past him to the bedroom. Poe follows, watching Kylo undress with unerring speed. He takes his own clothes off a little slower, trying to calm the angry storm inside of his head. Kylo is an emotional sponge - he always has been - and Poe is normally calm and level-headed enough to keep Kylo from spiking too far in any one direction. Even in the bedroom, he takes care to sharpen and hone his focus… normally. Right now, the green monster behind his eyes is making that difficult, and he doesn’t want Kylo to feel worried or - worst of all - afraid of him. He thought maybe getting all aggressive might spark Kylo’s competitive streak, or his more… histrionic side (which, thankfully, normally remains private, now), but instead he’s met with this eager hope. That surprises Poe, but it probably shouldn’t.

Kylo gets as far as the foot of the bed, with one boot off, before Poe pushes him face-first over the edge of the mattress. He falls with an _oomfh_ , ass-up, and Poe drops to one knee and bites at his ass.

“POE!”  


“Do you know why I’m angry?” he asks, figuring he should at least let him know that.  


“N-no?” Fear, then. Just slightly. Just a tremor, even though he’s parting his legs and tilting his hips to offer his hole like a good little boy.  


“No idea?” Poe asks, as he prises his buttocks apart with both hands.  


“…I… I don’t… know, I’m…”  


“You were flirting with him.”   


Kylo freezes, then. Freezes, and looks back over his shoulder. “I… was?”

“Do you even know who I mean?”  


He sees the cogs whirring, and… damnit. He doesn’t, does he? He doesn’t even know he was acting coy and cute and fuckable? He has no idea the affect he has on men, none whatsoever? 

“…no? Uh… Finn? Snap?”  


He’s just naming people he spoke to, who they both know, isn’t he? As if he’d suddenly flirt with either. Finn, who is also spoken for, and is now something like Kylo’s brother. Snap, who is something like _Poe’s_. Neither one could - or would - steal Kylo. In fact, Snap could probably grab his Kylo and kiss him, and it would barely register a 1 on the Jealousometer. Which means Poe feels even more of an ass.

“ _Bryan_.”  


“Who?”  


For Force’s sake… “The mechanic!”

“…him?” Kylo’s brows knit. “I was not flirting with him. Uh. Was I?”  


“Yes!”  


“He… he just… Poe, did you even listen to the conversation?”  


“I didn’t need to! I saw how you blushed!”  


Which makes his lover’s cheek do that **deep** red, the main-sequence red, the one that means he’s completely and utterly embarrassed. “He was telling me we looked cute together, and he was glad you had someone who made you so happy. Poe… I’m fairly sure he’s straight.”

Poe freezes. “…what?”

“Yeah. I mean. I didn’t ask, or… like… try to check? But he… uhm. He was just being kind to me.”  


Bryan, Heterosexual Nice Guy? Bryan, Defender of Kylos? Bryan, Supporter of Happy Poe and Kylo? This is so not helping his hatred. One bit. Maybe it’s a ruse…

“…you… thought I was… cheating on you?” Kylo barely gets the words out.  


“Not… cheating.”  


“You… you were… jealous?”   


And Kylo sounds so hopeful, like apparently being an insane monster who thinks smiling and blushing in front of a guy has to be some plan to run away to Kashyyyk to elope? Why the hell does Kylo look so hungry at the thought?

“Yeah. I’m sorry,” Poe stammers. “I–”  


“He was really cute.”   


Poe frowns. Kylo’s tone is _so_ not believable. And then he clicks. Kylo’s… role-playing? Which must mean he really likes it when he’s jealous? Like… _really likes_ it? His eyes light up in amusement, and this? This is better. Safer. It means he can be jealous without actually having to really hate a real person.

Perfect.

“So you thought about leaving me for him?”  


“Yeah. I mean. Just a bit. He has nice hands.”  


Poe shoves his two thumbs between Kylo’s cheeks, then, prodding into the darkness. It gets him a moan, and another arch of his back, showing him what _nice hands_ really are.

“I don’t know if he’d be as good in bed as you, though. But maybe you should remind me how good you are?” Kylo suggests.  


“Maybe I should. Show you how **much** you mean to me. Show you how _much_ I love you, crave you, desire you, **need** you.” He lets some of his earlier insecure aggression bleed in, because he can still feel the emotional after-effects, if without some of the guilt. (Poe does not like thinking badly of other people. Even inside his head with no ramifications.)   


“I would l– AUGH!”  


Kylo is always most vocal when Poe sticks his tongue between his legs. It’s a sure-fire way to make him scream the roof down, and it’s just a firm lick over his crack, from balls to tailbone, and Kylo’s grabbing hold of the sheets and panting.

Yep. Still got it. “Like that?” Poe teases, and then wiggles his tongue from side to side in place, instead. Kylo hates that, because it’s not enough, and he always slaps at the bed and shoves backwards for more. Which is why, of course, Poe does it. 

“No.” Snippy, and hungry.  


“Like… this?” And he licks him as hard as he can, then. Drags a flat tongue over that musky heat, breathing in the scent that is only, only him. He gets a strangled _yes_ in response, but he’s nowhere near done, not yet.  


“Poe… AHH POE YES OH, MAKER, YES.”  


He loves to rim him. Loves it, because Kylo loves it, too. It’s always a battle to get him to accept it, because he somehow thinks he’s not worthy, even as he craves it… and because he normally insists that Poe gets as much (if not more) loving. He swirls slowly around his hole, pulling at the skin, edging him slightly wider open. 

This is his. All of this. Kylo has never had another lover, never even another kiss. Poe knows, because Kylo told him. Everything they’ve done together is his first. and thus more perfect than ever. He knows this beautiful being belongs to him, for whatever reason the galaxy has decided, and when he thrusts a fat tongue into him, he knows he’s tasting something no one else ever, ever will. No one. And that makes a wave of possessive need rise up like a starfighter surging up to break orbit, to pull away from the gravity-well of jealous rage. He can be possessive without anger. He can want to own and keep and love without hate.

Over and over he takes his ass, letting go of his cheeks so they smother around his face, and holding onto his waist for leverage. Kylo is a wreck under him, his face messy with happy tears, and Poe beams in delight.

“Please,” Kylo whispers. “Please, Poe. I - I need…”  


“What do you need?” he asks, sitting back from his ministrations.  


“Y-you. I… I belong… to you I… Poe…”  


“Do you want me to fuck you?” he asks, knowing his lover struggles with voicing his wants. “Do you want me to remind you that your ass is Dameron property?”  


More nodding. Fierce, fierce nods and sniffly, eye-shut half-smiles, half… something else. Kylo is panting and only the bed is holding him up, his thighs shaking from the position. Toes and one boot on the floor, his pale body a work of quivering art before him. 

“Beg me.”  


“Poe, _please!”_  


_“ **Beg me properly.”**  
_

Kylo’s legs go even further apart - his calves strained from the position - as he tries to do it with his body. “Please, Master. _Please_. Please… please… fuckmepleasefuckme… pleasemakemeyoursplease, Sir, please…”

How can anyone resist _that_? “I’ll fuck you so hard you remember your ass is mine and mine alone,” he growls, by his ear, slid over his back to press the stiff fabric of his flightsuit against him. He never did get around to removing it, not properly. Just stays unfastened, and that’s it.

“PLEASE!” Kylo sounds frantic and lost, and Poe is going to have to get jealous more often, if it makes them both this horny.  


Not that they need much help in that respect. 

He bites down on the back of his lover’s neck, teeth sinking in, hair caught under his tongue. “Lube,” he growls, through his open mouth, the sound muffled. He pulls his dick out ready, so when Kylo’s body is open, he can slip straight inside that loving heat. 

Having a boyfriend with Force-powers helps. Especially when they get like this. A hand flicks out and pulls the bottle from the bedside table, and holds it back obediently. Squirt, squirt, and tossed to one side. Poe puts one foot up on the bed, and reaches between them to shove two fingers straight into Kylo’s spit-slick hole. It gobbles them down hungrily, as he fucks them rough and ready in. The angle isn’t the best for deep penetration with his hand, but this is more about widening and lubricating his entrance. The real show will come after.

“Oh… oh… Poe, I’m… I am… yours, all… yours. I…”  


It’s always amazing to him, how fucked up Kylo gets when they screw. How his words - normally so powerful and pretty - turn into mush when Poe loves on him. How he pants and gasps and moans as his shoulder is bitten down on, how he yelps wordlessly when Poe spreads his fingers as wide as he can in him.

Two. Wide. That will do. He slides back a bit, and holds his cock at his hole. 

“Who do you belong to?”  


“YOU.”  


“Whose cock gets to fill you?”  


“YOURS.”  


“Who owns your heart?”  


“ **YOU**.”  


The room almost shakes with the vehemence in his tone, and Poe slams in all the way to the hilt. Sheaths himself so deeply inside, so far in, that his own eyes spark. His Kylo. All his.

His body welcomes him deep inside, and then he’s gripping his hips so tightly he’s leaving marks. He might even bruise him, and it won’t be the first time he’s left a hand-print or a nail-dent or a tooth-mark or a scratch over him. Just little battle-scores, ones that fade from the skin, but not from the mind. A deep aching in his core from how harsh he’s fucking him, and Kylo’s cock hasn’t even been touched, yet, but he knows it’s leaking precum like mad beneath them. It’s slapping into the side of the bed, and it’s as beautiful as the rest of him.

They won’t last long. Not like this. Not after so much emotional high. Poe doesn’t mind, because he loves the after-care as much as the loving. He uses one foot on the mattress, the other on the floor, so he can drive in with all his strength and flexibility. Kylo bounces up and down on the bed, completely boneless and writhing and unable to do anything but let Poe work. His shoulders taut as he grabs for a pillow, the muscles sliding under his skin and his hair tossed to one side as he calls out Poe’s name like a prayer. Over and over and over. 

Over. And over. Like it’s the only word he knows, and the only one that matters.

Poe should never have doubted him. He puts one hand on the back of Kylo’s neck, and presses down, hard. Kylo’s face is turned, and he sees it in profile as he enjoys being so thoroughly abused and loved. Sees his pink, full lips open on a moan, his lashes on cheeks. 

“Come for me, love,” he says, his voice rough and hungry.  


Kylo doesn’t move his hands, but he suspects he makes one of his own, of the Force, to tug over his dick for the last few, disjointed jerks under him… and then his body is clenching and Kylo is coming and the air is thick with his arousal and voiceless, silent scream.

Poe loves him. He’s beautiful. He’s _his_. 

And he marks him, deep inside, with that joining that is everything, and really only a fraction of the story of their love.

But man, what a fraction.


End file.
